Christmas Fluff at 221B
by iColor With Crayons
Summary: Two prompts that I received for an Exchangelock gift: Christmas shopping with Sherlock and ugly holiday sweaters with Sherlock. Be warned: there are mall cops, possible cannibals, hideous sweaters, puppies, and cheesy portraits. What's not to like?


**Prompt #1 Christmas shopping with Sherlock being really difficult**

"What do you think about this?" John asked, holding up a vase with intricate flowers painted on it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's fine."

"That's what you've said about everything we've seen today." John complained with an annoyed huff.

"That's not true." Sherlock objected.

"Sherlock, I held up a mannequin's hand and asked you what you thought about it. You said that Mrs. Hudson would love it." John argued, his eyebrows scrunching together irritably.

"She would love it," Sherlock snapped, "it would remind her of her relationship with her late husband. He was involved in the drug industry; specifically, one that controlled their clients and suppliers alike through fear and punishment. I'm sure there were hands lying all around the house in those days."

"We are not getting her a mannequin hand." John stated in an exasperated voice.

"Excellent, you have another gift in mind. Would you please go ahead and buy it? I have several experiences waiting back at the flat." Sherlock responded.

"No, I don't have another gift in mind, you arse. What about you? You're as clever as it gets; let's hear your brilliant ideas." John countered, folding his arms across his chest and coming to a halt in the middle of the mall.

Sherlock looked around the mall, his eyes narrowing. Suddenly, his icy gaze fell upon one store in particular. His mouth twitched into a smile. John's eyebrows furrowed as he looked between Sherlock and the area that he appeared to be smirking at, not understanding what his lunatic flat mate could possibly be thinking.

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into that." John grumbled as the pair walked away from the store with a wrapped package tucked securely under Sherlock's arm.

"Mrs. Hudson will love it." Sherlock remarked, looking puzzled by John's embarrassment.

"People will talk." John grumbled.

"It seems that they do little else. John, what is Graham doing here?" Sherlock demanded, noticing that Greg Lestrade was lingering just a few feet from where they were walking.

John let out a laugh. "I've got to finish my Christmas shopping and you are being a pain in my arse. Go on, sod off. Maybe he's got a case for you."

Sherlock took a moment to look John over. His eyes glazed over as he concentrated on the man standing before him. John squirmed uncomfortably under the consulting detective's gaze. He knew that he didn't have much of a chance of pulling something over on Sherlock Holmes.

"You want to buy me a Christmas present," It was more of an accusation than a statement, "Why?"

John felt his face redden. He should have known that Sherlock would not let this go. It was as though the man had never celebrated a holiday before. In fact, Sherlock looked confused by the very idea of it. John couldn't help but wonder if Mycroft had banned Christmas from their household, or perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had simply given up after years of listening to their sons' constant complaints.

"I don't know, Sherlock, we're flatmates." John sighed by way of explanation.

"Do flatmates typically purchase gifts for one another?" Sherlock was not making a joke, he genuinely did not know.

"I don't know." John replied, shaking his head and staring resolutely at the ground.

Sherlock stood in silence for a few moments, simply processing all of the information that he had gathered. He looked thoroughly confused by it all. John could not blame him.

"I suppose I had better leave you to your shopping," Sherlock finally mused, a crease forming over the bridge of his nose, "What would you like for Christmas?"

"You don't have to get me anything." John responded automatically.

Sherlock looked even more puzzled, as if John had just spoken in a language that did not really exist. John couldn't help but smile at how confusing his flat mate seemed to find the entire concept of gift-giving.

"You are getting me a present. It is customary that I get you a present. Now, what would you like?" Sherlock persisted.

"I don't know," John ran his hand through his hair, "Surprise me."

Sherlock blinked, staring at John for a moment before nodding grimly. The consulting detective turned on his heel and approached Greg without another word. John nodded to himself before turning around and walking off in the opposite direction, wondering just what kind of gift to get Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

"No, Sherlock, you can't get John a hunting knife for Christmas." Greg said in exasperation, rushing across the sporting goods store in order to get the knife away from Sherlock.

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded with a scowl.

"Knives aren't presents." Greg replied matter-of-factly.

"John would like it." Sherlock sulked.

"Maybe save it for his birthday. Why don't we look at jumpers or books?" Greg suggested, attempting to lead Sherlock away from the weapons section of the store.

"Dull." Sherlock muttered.

"Books don't have to be dull. I got you a book last year and you said that you enjoyed it in your thank-you note." Greg reminded him with a satisfied smirk.

"I didn't write you a thank-you note." Sherlock remarked, turning to look at Greg inquisitively.

"Yeah you did. For a genius, your memory really isn't that great. Might want to get that checked, mate. Here, I have a picture of it on my phone. Donovan didn't believe me when I told her you wrote one." Greg argued, pulling out his phone and pulling up a picture.

Sherlock peered at the picture for a moment before returning his attention to the products surrounding him. "That's John's handwriting. As a detective inspector, you should probably know that sort of thing."

"Yeah, alright, let's just get back to shopping," Greg grumbled, cramming his phone back in his pocket, "What about that jumper? That looks nice."

Sherlock let out an obscenely loud groan. "John has jumpers. He needs something that he does not have."

"Then what do you want to get him?" Greg asked, annoyed that he was being dragged along for the Christmas shopping while Sherlock whined and moaned all the while.

"I don't know!" Sherlock howled, infuriated that there was something marginally important that he did not have an answer to.

Greg rubbed his eyes in frustration. His phone vibrated in his pocket before he could say anything to calm down the pouting consulting detective in front of him. Upon further inspection, it appeared that he was needed at Scotland Yard. Paper work was waiting for him.

"Sherlock, I've got to go. If you want I can call John and we can just try shopping again some other time." Greg offered, not looking up from his phone.

"No," Sherlock snapped immediately, "I'm going to find John a present. Your assistance is not needed. You're useless anyway."

"Alright, try not to kill yourself in the process," Greg muttered, patting Sherlock's shoulder as some sort of soothing gesture before strolling out of the store.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and spun around to get a better look at the products that could be considered for John.

* * *

John was just finishing up his shopping when his cell rang. Hoping that it was not Mrs. Hudson demanding to know why Sherlock had put human ears in the toaster, John hastened to answer his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Watson?" An unfamiliar voice inquired.

"For god's sake, he's a doctor." John heard Sherlock snap in the background.

John's eyebrows furrowed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and strode to a more isolated part of the mall.

"Yes, this is John Watson." He answered, wondering just what kind of trouble Sherlock had managed to find while Christmas shopping.

"Ah, well, Dr. Watson, we have your friend, Mr. Holmes, detained for security reasons." The voice stated dismally.

John's shoulders slumped. He should have known better than to let Sherlock loose in a mall full of people. There were far too many variables. He couldn't help but think that his flat mate should have come with some sort of usage manual.

"Yeah, okay, where can I bail him out?" John sighed in resignation.

"Mall security is located at the end of the mall near the candle shop. I am sure that Mr. Holmes is eagerly awaiting your arrival." There was a clicking noise and that was that. John was left to his own thoughts once more.

"Can't believe it," He muttered to himself, shaking his head before starting off in the direction of the mall security office.

It only took him about five minutes to reach the security office. The mall itself was not very big, and in the midst of his irritation, John had walked rather swiftly.

The second that he stepped into the office and saw Sherlock pouting, all of John's anger dissolved. The shorter man just burst out laughing.

"Sherlock Holmes, what could you have possibly done? I thought that Greg would keep an eye on you." John asked through his series of giggles.

"I don't need somebody to keep an eye on me. I am an adult." Sherlock pouted.

John snorted dubiously, rolled his eyes then looked to one of the officers for some kind of explanation.

"I caught him trying to stick a mannequin's foot in a toaster oven." The stouter officer explained, staring at Sherlock in a combination of annoyance and fear. John knew that look all too well.

"Sherlock," John sighed in exasperation, "Why were you trying to stick a foot in a toaster oven?"

"I was Christmas shopping for you." Sherlock replied sulkily.

John let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. "And you think that I want to toast feet in my spare time? That's you, you bloody arse."

"You might enjoy it if you tried it!" Sherlock protested. Then, noticing the shocked expressions that he and John were receiving from the officers, he added, "Oh, stop staring. We are not cannibals."

The officers looked at one another doubtfully while John placed his hands on his hips, attempting to remaining grounded during the frankly ridiculous situation.

"Right. Yeah. Not cannibals. Just a neurotic detective and his flatmate. Are we all set, then?" John asked, biting back a smirk as he looked at the officers expectantly.

"Consulting detective; and I am not neurotic. I simply make better use of household products than most. Sign the paper on the desk and we will be free to go." Sherlock responded irritably.

John rolled his eyes but immediately bent down to sign the form that Sherlock had pointed out. He knew it was best to get Sherlock away from anyone that might lock him up before starting up an argument.

Once the pair was out of the small office, John spun around in order to face Sherlock. Sherlock scowled and shook his head.

"Not a word." He demanded through gritted teeth.

John smirked back at him but opted against making a snide comment. The last thing he wanted to do was wind up alongside of Sherlock in the mall security office all over again. Greg and Mrs. Hudson had already bailed them out of jail, along with several other security facilities, an embarrassing amount of times as it was.

Once the pair reached the flat and made it past Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock scampered off in the direction of his bedroom, attempting to hide a bag as he did so.

"So you did find something other than a toaster oven." John remarked.

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped, his voice slightly muffled by his closed door.

* * *

Christmas morning in 221B was a bit different than the Christmases that John had celebrated in the past. Sherlock was in the kitchen frying ears for god knows what reason, Mrs. Hudson was on the phone with Mrs. Turner, and John was lying on the couch watching crap telly, waiting for someone else to suggest that it was time to open presents.

Surprisingly enough, Sherlock was the first to notice that they had not exchanged gifts yet. He carefully placed the ears that he had fried in a bowl before straying into the living area and staring at the poorly wrapped presents sitting under the tree thoughtfully.

"When does one normally open presents?" The consulting detective inquired.

John finally looked away from the TV. "What do you mean? There's no set 'present time,' Sherlock. We can open them whenever we'd like. Were your parents strict about opening presents?"

Sherlock shrugged sullenly. "I wouldn't know. Mycroft banned Christmas presents when I was three." ~

John nodded to himself. "That explains a thing or two," He muttered, his mouth quirking into a small smile, "Alright, let's open up these presents. Oi, Mrs. Hudson, we've got a present for you too."

"Oh, you boys didn't have to get me anything." Mrs. Hudson remarked, rushing into the room and immediately searching for her present.

"Mm. Your demeanor would suggest otherwise." Sherlock drawled.

Mrs. Hudson swatted at Sherlock without any actual malice while John sorted out the presents, a small pile accumulating in front of each of the residents of the flat.

Sherlock did not wait for John to finish sorting; the consulting detective plopped down in his chair and immediately began unwrapping his presents. John and Mrs. Hudson exchanged exasperated looks, but decided to allow Sherlock to enjoy his holiday without receiving much scolding.

"John, why did you consider it necessary to buy me a leash? Planning on restraining me at crime scenes?" Sherlock demanded, scowling down at the present that he had received from John.

John laughed. For once, he had pulled one over on Sherlock Holmes. He deserved some type of award from Scotland Yard.

"One moment." John held up his finger and nodded before exiting the room. He wandered down the stairs, leaving Sherlock to sulk over his disappointing Christmas present with Mrs. Hudson.

When John returned, he was not alone. He was holding a wriggling Irish Setter puppy in his hairs. Sherlock stared at the puppy with wide eyes, his expression unreadable. John bit his lip and shifted on his feet a bit.

"Yeah, well, Mycroft said that you had a dog when you were a kid and you loved the thing," John explained sheepishly, feeling his face redden, "And I know you talk to yourself when I'm not home; I thought that having someone else in the flat might be helpful."

John put the wriggling puppy down and stared at the ground resolutely. He silently berated himself for trying to get Sherlock Holmes a thoughtful Christmas present. He should have gone with a cadaver from the morgue like Mrs. Hudson suggested.

The puppy bounded over to Sherlock before anyone could stop it. Sherlock stared down at it, but his expression was still unclear. John sat down in his chair across from Sherlock's, attempting to catch the consulting detective's eye.

"Sherlock, we don't have to keep him if you don't want him. I'm sure I could find him a new owner…" John stated, ducking his head down a bit in order to appear in Sherlock's peripheral vision.

"No." Sherlock objected immediately.

"No?" John echoed, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't repeat my questions, John, you know that I detest that," Sherlock sighed, looking up at John in an excessively patronizing way, "I said no. We will keep the dog. I'm sure that he will keep you company when you require such a thing." Sherlock made a gesture with his hand that was meant to convey that he thought very little of John's need for company, but both John and Mrs. Hudson saw right through it.

John now understood that Sherlock was not staring at the puppy because he was annoyed by its presence, or even because he was thinking about the implications of owning the tiny creature. The ridiculous could not take his eyes off of the puppy because he was thrilled by its presence. It was obvious from the way his mouth twitched into an almost-smile whenever the puppy tripped over its long ears.

"Right then. If we're going to keep him, we might as well give him a name, don't you think?" John prompted with a smile.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, still looking at the puppy. "Galileo."

"Sorry, Galileo?" John asked, unable to help repeating what Sherlock had already stated.

Sherlock let out an annoyed huff, his eyes narrowing. "I thought that you of all people would approve. Now I'll always remember who induced the human race to understand the solar system."

"You looked it up." John laughed.

"You were ridiculing me. Of course I looked it up." Sherlock bit back irritably.

* * *

Once the excitement of the newest addition to Baker Street - little Galileo - had settled down considerably, the gift-giving resumed. Sherlock refused to open any more presents on his own, as he did not want to disturb the sleeping puppy on his lap, but John and Mrs. Hudson were more than happy to unwrap all of the gifts intended for them.

John received a jumper from Mrs. Hudson, a hideous gloves and scarf set from Harry, an "I'm With Stupid" T-shirt from Lestrade (which offended Sherlock to no end), and a series of murder mystery short stories from Molly.

Mrs. Hudson received a new set of china teacups from Mrs. Turner, a new cardigan from Lestrade (he remembered not to select a cerise one - it would only drain her), and a pair of awful earrings from Molly.

"Sherlock, we're about to open the presents from you now." John remarked, staring at the consulting detective expectantly.

"Fine." Sherlock murmured, entirely distracted by Galileo, who was now gnawing on his arm.

"Oh, let's just go ahead." Mrs. Hudson laughed, smiling at Sherlock fondly before returning her attention to the gift that John and Sherlock had gotten her.

John rolled his eyes, but could not help smiling. He was thrilled that he had finally gotten Sherlock Holmes a present that he enjoyed.

Mrs. Hudson unwrapped her present first and gasped loudly. Courtesy of a terrible idea on Sherlock's part, she received an incredibly cheesy portrait that he and John had gotten taken and framed for her. John could not help but analyze every single embarrassing feature of the portrait. There was a mustard stain on his trousers, he was not entirely focused on the camera, and though he was smiling, he did not particularly enthused about the picture. Still, at least he had smiled. Sherlock was just staring ahead blankly. Mrs. Hudson dissolved into giggles.

"Oh, you boys!" She laughed, patting John's knee fondly, "This is going right in the hallway. Mrs. Turner will be green with envy once she sees this. Her married ones are moving out, you know."

"Please don't show anybody that picture." John groaned, placing his hand over his eye.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "There is no need to be self-conscious, John. You look perfectly acceptable."

"Yeah, right," John snorted, snatching the poorly wrapped present that Sherlock had selected for him as a way of distracting himself, "Well, guess I should see what you got me."

Noticing his flatmate's reluctant unwrapping, Sherlock let out a loud sigh. "It's nothing dangerous or potentially life-threatening, John."

John laughed, shook his head, and tore away the rest of the paper more quickly.

Once the paper was all the way removed, John couldn't help but laugh. It was a wheezy, uncontrolled laugh - John was relatively certain that he had snorted several times in five minutes alone - and it took him several minutes to get his laughter under control. Sherlock's mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. Mrs. Hudson looked between them with the most maternal smile that either of the men had ever seen.

Sherlock had gotten John a book titled, "Blogging for Dummies."

* * *

**Prompt #2 Sherlock and John in Xmas jumpers and Sherlock looking really pissed off.**

"Just wear it." John sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration as Sherlock laid face-down in his bed sulking.

"No." Sherlock snapped, burying his face in John's pillow.

"Sherlock, the party started twenty minutes ago. Just put the jumper on. I'm wearing mine." John persisted, folding his arms across his chest.

"You always wear ugly jumpers." Sherlock responded, his voice muffled by the pillow.

John's eyes narrowed. "Sherlock, put on the jumper."

"What for?" Sherlock sulked.

"If you don't put that jumper on right now, I'll leave you here." John threatened.

"Go ahead." Sherlock tried to shrug. The effect was not quite the same while he was lying down.

John scowled at his flatmate before shaking his head. "Sod this. You stay here and pout. I'm going to go to Molly's holiday party. I'll tell her that you were too vain to put on an ugly jumper for an ugly jumper party."

Sherlock did not say a word as John stalked out of the room. He remained face down in the pillow, irritated at the very thought of wearing the awful jumper that John had selected for him. He could not understand the concept of an ugly jumper party. It seemed bizarre for someone to purposely dress ridiculously.

The consulting detective remained in that position for about half an hour. He had forgotten John's reason for leaving nearly five minutes after his flatmate had left. Instead, he let his mind wander to speculations about the cleanest way to decapitate a person. He briefly wondered if there was a way to test his theory without actually murdering a human being.

After thirty minutes, however, Sherlock looked up from the pillow and noticed the terrible jumper lying on a chair. He looked at the clock and realized that John had been at the party for thirty minutes. John had been at a party without him for thirty minutes. There was no telling what had happened. He might have gotten a new girlfriend. He might have had an allergic reaction to one of Molly's absurd eggnog concoctions. He might have grown a mustache.

He stared at the jumper long and hard. It was by far the most hideous article of clothing that had ever been in his bedroom. It was an off-white that he knew would make him look like a walking skeleton and had a cartoon snowman wearing a top hat and smoking a pipe stitched on the front. He would not have even considered wearing the jumper when he was a small child. Mycroft would never let him live it down.

He let out an annoyed groan and ruffled his hair. He paced the length of his floor and snatched his cell phone off of his bedside table. John had not texted him. John usually texted him when he went to parties alone; he would always complain that he was not having any fun. With another groan, he threw the phone across the room.

John was standing in Molly's flat without him. John was wearing an absurd jumper with puppies and kittens and ribbons sewed all over it and he was at Molly's party without him. John was talking to other people while wearing that horrible sweater without him. John was at a party that he was not complaining about without him. John was having fun without him.

He didn't like the thought of John having fun without him. It was selfish, Sherlock knew that perfectly well, but he didn't care one bit. He was a selfish human being and he did not want John to have fun without him. It wasn't acceptable.

With one last sound of agitation, he grabbed the disgusting sweater and threw it over his shirt. His collar was poking out, but he could not imagine that anything could possibly make his outfit look worse. He didn't bother looking at himself in the mirror before stomping out of the flat.

* * *

"Oh, Jesus. Where's my phone?" Greg interrupted the conversation that he and John had been having in order to pat his pockets in an effort to locate his phone.

"I dunno, why?" John asked, arching an eyebrow.

Greg nodded in the direction of Molly's front door, his jaw falling slack in disbelief.

John turned around and was astonished to see Sherlock approaching him. The consulting detective was wearing the awful jumper that John had bought him days before, as well as an absolutely murderous facial expression.

Molly trotted over to Sherlock immediately. "Sherlock! John said that you weren't able to make it. I'm so glad that you could come. I love your sweater."

"Mm." Sherlock murmured vaguely, waving Molly off and continuing in John's direction.

John, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" Sherlock demanded the moment that he reached John. He ignored Lestrade, who was currently snapping a number of pictures on his phone.

"You, you ridiculous bastard," John gasped, clutching his knees as he shook with laughter, "I never thought I'd see the great Sherlock Holmes wearing a jumper with Frosty the Snowman on it."

"You bought it." Sherlock snapped, looking down at the sweater as his face reddened slightly.

"And you're wearing it!" John wheezed.

"Well, what about you? Your jumper is worse." Sherlock argued, folding his arms across his chest and fidgeting in an effort to keep anyone else from seeing his ridiculous attire.

"You look like Casper the ghost." John chortled.

"You look like a petting zoo." Sherlock bit back irritably.

"Tell me you're getting pictures of this." John rasped, managing to look at Greg amidst his laughter.

"Graham, give me the phone." Sherlock growled, taking a step towards Greg.

Greg danced out of reach, still pointing the camera of his phone at Sherlock. Sherlock scowled at John as if to say, 'this is entirely your fault'. John didn't seem to care in the least.

John and Sherlock remained at the party for about ten minutes longer. The only reason that Sherlock stayed in Molly's apartment for that length of time was because he was determined to take Greg's cell phone and destroy it. In the end, he caught Greg off-guard when the older man attempted to flirt with Molly Hooper and managed to throw the phone on the ground hard enough to destroy any salvageable data. John dragged him out of the party by the collar of his sweater, assuring Greg that Sherlock would buy him a new phone immediately.

"Did you really have to destroy Greg's phone?" John sighed as he and his flatmate settled into the back of a cab.

"Did you really have to agree to attend Molly's party?" Sherlock countered by way of answering.

John rolled his eyes. "I thought it sounded like fun. It was fun. You didn't have to go, you know. I'd assumed that you would just spend the rest of the night pouting anyway." He responded with a slight shrug.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "Would you have preferred that I remain at the flat?"

Sherlock resented just how small his voice had sounded, but he could not help it. He had gone to the party as he was unable to cope with the possibility of John having fun without him. He had not taken into consideration the possibility that John might have preferred that he remain at home. Sherlock had always just assumed that John was happiest when he was present.

John rolled his eyes again and shook his head. "Don't be such a bloody drama queen. You know that I wanted you to go to the party; I wouldn't have found you that awful jumper if I hadn't. You've just got to stop taking yourself so seriously."

"I should be taken seriously. My mind is -"

"Yeah, yeah, you're a genius; we've all heard that. No one cares how smart you are at a Christmas party, Sherlock. Molly didn't invite you over so you could deduce everything about her. Well, er, actually, I'm sure she didn't invite you over for the same reason that she invited everyone else, but…"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as the cab slowed to a stop in front of their flat. The consulting detective slipped out of the cab and left John to pay in his wake. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to escape the conversation in order to think it through in peace.

"Sherlock!" John huffed, jogging into the flat after Sherlock, "Wait up. You know that I wanted you there. I'm sure you could deduce that from my bloody shoelaces or the cuff of my sleeve. You've just got to learn to enjoy parties a bit more. We might've been a bit more welcome if you hadn't destroyed Greg's phone."

"He shouldn't have taken pictures without my consent." Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, next time you'll just have to say something, won't you?" John chuckled as they climbed the stairs and reached their flat.

"Hm." Sherlock murmured noncommittally, stalking off in the direction of his room.

"Going to sulk?" John questioned, his voice filled with laughter.

"Going to remove this hateful jumper." Sherlock responded, forcing himself to sound dismal and irritated.

"Huh." John muttered, sinking into his plaid chair and staring down the hallway towards Sherlock's room thoughtfully.

Sherlock turned around and arched a cynical eyebrow. "'Hm'?"

John shrugged with a sheepish smile. "I don't know; this whole look," He gestured towards Sherlock's ridiculous apparel, "It's sort of growing on me."

Sherlock snorted and closed his bedroom door behind him.


End file.
